The Adventures of Hatter in Alice Land
by Emila
Summary: A series of one-shots depicting Hatter's stay outside of Wonderland.
1. Wise Words and Mad Misunderstandings

Disclaimer: I don't own Alice, the amazingly addictive sci-fi series.

Summary: Life is a constant process of learnings, and Hatter's got his work cut out for him here. Luckily, Alice has a very soft tummy. The inspiration for this little piece came from the prompt: Tea

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One of the first things Hatter learned in Alice's world – besides how great a kisser she was, and how wonderfully accepting her mother could be, and how woolen socks did _not_ in fact go in toasters ("No, not _cotton_ socks either, Hatter! Throw them in the dryer if they're wet!") – was how very much Alice loved to read.

Her bookshelf completely, utterly, and shamefully overshadowed her small drawers of clothes, practically overflowing with works of fantasy, fiction, health, and inspiration. In fact, if he had not clearly been so dashingly, devilishly, deliciously and de-lovingly handsome and quick-of-wit, Hatter might have felt some competition for his lovely Alice's attention in those bindings of remarkable flammable – ("_Hatter!_ I don't care how cold you think it is! You have over 13 jackets, for crying out loud!") – flimsy paper.

All jests aside, Hatter truly considered Alice's collection a veritable jackpot as far as his luck could take him. Forget formal education – was there a better way to learn the ways of her world than curled up with his head pillowed on Alice's stomach, freshly-toasted socks singeing on his toasty toes and a thick book in hand? History and politics were his poison of choice tonight – he'd be a bonafide Oyster in two jigs of a bee's tail, at this rate! Presently one such tome lay open, point digging slightly into his chest, something Alice had called a "textbook" for one of her old classes. He was welcome to it, she said, _somebody_ should enjoy the evil thing. Hatter rather thought this a cruel underestimation of the books potential, as he casually licked his thumb and dog-eared yet another page about the Federal Drug Administration. He'd come back to those later, when Alice was at work and away from the discovery that Hatter may be taking _too_ much of an interest in what he could legally get away with in this world.

He really was, so considerate.

Intrigued as he may be, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open against the heady pull of Alice's sleepy feelings. The emotions seeped through her skin like a heavy mist, lulling Hatter down into a warm feeling of laziness. Just as the letters on the page began to blur and dance, a particular forming of letters caught his eye, drawing him from his light doze. "Tea!" he thought happily, gaze zeroing in on the word. Before he allowed himself too much excitement, Hatter reminded himself that this world had very different customs, and prepared for yet another emotional battery like the one he'd received two days ago whilst reading the very same textbook. ("Alice! Alice, look here, look what I just read. This is positively barbaric! What kind of a tea party was _that_?!" "It was a form of protest, Hatter." "It was a goddamn atrocity, that's what it is! We are never, ever, going anywhere _near_ Boston for the rest of our lives!") However, Hatter was pleasantly surprised to see a soothing lack of tea-murder, and read what appeared to be a quote underneath a picture of some lady.

"_A woman," _it read. _"Is like a tea bag."_

"Oh, I get that," Hatter thought, raising an eyebrow and glancing up at Alice's sleeping face slyly. Delicious, he thought. Addicting.

"_You never know how strong she is until she gets into hot water." –Eleanor Roosevelt _

Huh.

Hatter closed the book and placed it on his lap, brow creased, contemplating this new insight into the female Oyster. Did water have some sort of magical effect on them, like it did those amazing instant meals he'd grown so fond of? ("I just add water? That's _all_??" "It's called Easy Mac for a reason, Hatter." "I'll call it whatever it wants! …Who's Mac?")

Alice was very strong, he'd known that as soon as he'd seen her, and she _had_ been wet back then. Of course, that had been cold water, not hot. Very cold. Hatter felt himself smiling dreamily.

With a soft cough, Hatter pulled himself away from thoughts of his pale, trembling love and thought again on this new conundrum. Was this why Alice shut herself up in the little toilet room every morning, forcing him to dance in the hallway as he waited for his turn at the loo, steam rolling from under the door? Was it all just like a recharge for her? And if the lake-swim, with all its cold water, really had been responsible for Alice's amazing fortitude, imagine what she could do if she were covered in _hot_ water…

"Curiouser and curiouser," he mumbled, lifting his head from its proud perch. Alice grunted at the loss of warmth, shifting restlessly for a moment before settling back to sleep, snoring charmingly like an ox. Hatter resisted the pull once again, swaying on his feet a bit as Alice's warm contentment and sleepiness tempted him like the drugs they were. He casually reached out and bopped his hat where it hung on the bed post, sending it arching into the air with a spin, from whence it plopped onto his head with a very sound "pm!" Grinning at the greatness that was he, Hatter returned the textbook to its station on the shelf and hop-skip-and-jumped out to the hallway, meandering purposefully towards the kitchen.

The dim glow of the kitchen lights cast a bright bronze sheen on the tea pot as Hatter filled it with water. How much should he put in? Lady Roosevelt had not specified whether the woman must be drenched, or just a little damp, for the reaction to take place. Deciding to go on the safe side, he stopped the flow of water just as it reached the top of the pot, flicking on the flame and placing the kettle in its place with a satisfied and very practiced motion.

Had their neighbors been awake, they may have wondered at the source of light coming from the window beside them at three in the morning, accompanied by a soft, muttered humming of a strange little Wonderland Bedtime Song:

Kettle, Kettle on the stove

Boiling water up a drove

Bubbly-wubbly, nice and hot

Like a toadstool in a pot

Before Hatter could finish the twenty-seventh verse of "Kettle, Kettle", the weakest whisper of a scream began to leak from the tea pot. Whisking it off with a flourish, Hatter waited a moment for the steam to abate. The water must be hot, after all, not boiling. "Wouldn't want to boil my lovely Oyster, now, would we?" Hatter jiggled the pot merrily, heading back towards the bedroom once it felt the right temperature.

Sudden anxiety snuck into his gut as Hatter opened the door with a barely audible creak. Perhaps there were side effects to the process, or assume he got something wrong and broke his Alice somehow? Yet these hesitations were not to be borne – he had read about the Lady Roosevelt himself, and she had seemed an entirely dependable, powerful person. If she said hot water was all it took, than hot water he would provide. And wouldn't Alice be pleased that she wouldn't have to steam up the loo in the morning, once she discovered Hatter had already charged her up?

Mad mind made up, he stood eagerly at the head of their bed, kettle poised suspensefully overhead. Allowing himself a brief moment of peace, Hatter admired the gentle and peaceful curve of Alice's face before relaxing his wrist.

The result was instant, painful, and a _gross_ overreaction.

Experiment completed, Hatter shivered morosely beneath the thin sheet, curled into a small ball on the living room sofa. His hand cupped his right eye tenderly, and with an immortal swear to never again test the limits of Alice's strength – because really, apparently there was _none_ – Hatter cursed before falling into a doleful slumber the misleading words of one Eleanor Roosevelt.

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These one-shots will occur spontaneously and entirely outside my own power to delegate. (Though I have heard that they are attracted and enticed by comments, reviews, and pie.) If you have any prompts you'd like to share, I would love to take suggestions! Thanks for reading!


	2. The Man Who Knows

Disclaimer: Woefully rightless.

Summary: Riddle me this, riddle me that - and why you can always trust a Hatter to be untrustworthy. This chapter was prompted by - mysteries of mysteries - the word: riddle.

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"Hatter!" Alice called out from the other room, startling the man in question enough to jolt him out of his very pleasantly warm afternoon nap with a sharp stab of panic. With a furtive glance towards the curtains to make sure they hadn't caught fire spontaneously again, Hatter looked up to the noise of quickly padding feet.

He had been living in Alice's world for a little over three months now, and had learned fairly early on in the game that, when Alice called him like that, he was very likely to get in deep trouble. For the first few weeks, there had been many a time when Alice had screamed out his name (and not always in the happy, ecstatic way that he liked so very much.) No, usually when Alice cried his name like that, Hatter had accidentally left the stove on, or had accidentally tried to pay the pizza man with bags of tea, or accidentally tried to make coffee in the blender or _very_ accidentally replaced all of Alice's sensible underthings with those of a more sheer, silky variety. (_Extremely_ on accident, that last one. Except for the ones with the little tea cup prints, those she had liked.)

Yet when Alice rounded the bend with all the tender gracelessness of a rampant meerkat, Hatter relaxed back into the cushions with relief. He couldn't have done anything if she was that excited. Now he puzzled as he tried to work out what exactly he might have done right – besides being his wonderfully debonair self, he thought as he cracked the toes of his bare feet, watching as Alice tumbled to his side. Her hands clutched a familiar book tight in front of her chest, and between her splayed pale fingers Hatter could just catch the title. He smiled. The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland – again?

A wash of nonsensical smugness swelled up within Hatter – ridiculous considering she wasn't actually reading about him. (He'd read the book himself, and had been extremely…bemused at Carroll's deplorable portrayal of the Hatting Tea business. No resemblance to him there, at all.) Tipping the brim of his hat back enough to better see her face, Hatter grinned. "What happened to getting all of your assigned papers out of the way, then?"

Alice shrugged. "I took a break," she explained self-importantly. "It's good for you – gets your creative juices flowing and all that." Hatter rose his eyebrows with interest, but before he could open his mouth to offer – quite selflessly – ulterior ways in which to get Alice flowing, she plopped down onto her knees next to his chair. "Anyway," she said. "I was reading, and I realized something!"

"What's that?"

She bounced lightly on her feet. "Oh, this is so cool!'

Hatter smiled indulgently. "Yes, I'm practically giddy with excitement myself. Care to tell me why?"

Alice sighed, extending and showing the page she had left off on. "Here," she said, pointing, adopting the voice that Hatter had aptly christened her 'teaching voice'. He liked it. "When Lewis Carroll wrote Wonderland, he had the Mad Hatter," she nodded her head at him meaningfully. Hatter scoffed. "Recite a bunch of nonsense and things. Carroll actually made up a riddle, and it's become very popular, because everybody keeps trying to find out the answer."

Hatter nodded. "I see. Fascinating bit that was there." He reached over the cushion and heaved Alice over it and onto his lap with a grunt. "Now," he said, settling her comfortably. "Have I told you yet today how unbearably – "

"Wait, wait," Alice said impatiently, swatting at his hands where they curled on her hips, thumbs lightly circling. "The cool part is that nobody really knows the actual answer. But you, you _are_ the Hatter!" He opened his mouth to protest, and Alice rolled her eyes. "Except with a nicer hat, a smaller nose, and a better sense of fashion and poise." She recited dryly.

"You forgot a sultrier and all-around more attractive air," Hatter mumbled petulantly.

"Falls under 'poise'," she said while tossing her head dismissively. "But don't you see? If things like the Oyster-Carpenter-Walrus thing, and the Tweedles, and the entire card-kingdom are real, then maybe this riddle is real too! And if it is, then you would be just the type to know it, for sure."

Hatter grinned rakishly and tipped his head back against the chair, looking down at Alice through arrogantly half-lidded eyes. "Well, they don't call me The Man Who Knows for nothin'. Lay it on me."

Alice twinkled her pretty blue eyes at him, smiling with the smug assurance of one who is about to get just what they want. "When," she said. "Is a raven…like a writing desk?"

Hatter exhaled thoughtfully and brought his hands up to fold over her shoulders, casually walking the fingers across her back to lace behind her neck. With a very important – and decisive – pause, he met her eyes and said soundly.

"On Saturdays."

Alice stared.

Hatter smirked.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why on Saturday?"

"Because it's much too busy any other time of the week, the poor old biddy."

Alice didn't quite frown, but she did tilt her head and look suspiciously at her boyfriend. While she'd come to accept that Wonderland logic was convoluted at the best of times and downright weird at others, she knew Hatter enough to be wary. He was, afterall, a con-man, and he looked much too pleased with himself.

"You don't believe me?" Hatter gasped theatrically when Alice considered for a moment before shaking her head in the negative. "Now hold on, I thought you said you trusted me!"

Alice pursed her lips together with exasperation. "I do trust you – I trust you to be just as mischievous as you always are – and I trust you to take advantage of any situation that you can." She waggled her finger in front of his nose. "I still haven't forgotten that time you told me that the first Friday of every month was considered a holy day in Wonderland, and you couldn't go to work for religious reasons."

Hatter chuckled proudly.

"Or the time that you set the curtains on fire."

"Accidentally!"

"Whatever. The point is, I wouldn't put it past you to try and pull the wool over my eyes, just for fun."

"I do believe that the time has come for us to talk of other things," Hatter said lowly, nimbly prying the book from between Alice's fingers and leading her now-empty hands up to cup his neck.

"Don't try to change to subject, Hatter," Alice protested with mock severity, shifting closer with a smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it, love," the Hatter returned his hands to their favorite place on Alice. "In fact, I'm feeling so candid with you right now, I think I should share another fun little tidbit about Wonderland."

"Oh?" Alice said dryly, leaning down to kiss Hatter's nose.

"Today, my dear Oyster, is Wednesday – and there's a time-honored tradition in Wonderland stating quite clearly that Wednesdays are Clothing-Optional days."

"Really?"

"Oh yes."

"Hmmm…." Alice hummed as her fingers toyed with the small hairs at the nape of his neck. Hatter shuddered.

"Oh wait, scratch that. Those are Tuesdays. Wednesdays are Clothing-Free. It's extremely mandatory."

"So very, very trustworthy," Alice whispered affectionately.

Hatter agreed.

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Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews - and, of course, pie. I'm always open to suggestions or requests - just let me know!


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